Byline
by B. Lleyn
Summary: Lois Lane is the best reporter of her time. Or at least she would be making sure she was, if not for temporary set backs in the forms of inter-state diplomatic negotiations and pesky court orders. When her chief editor orders her to take some time off and babysit the newcomer, Lois will find a competitor, a friend and a love to defy her cynical soul in Clark Kent.
1. Chapter 1

There were only three things that could fully dissipate the ignominy of having to show up early to work with a hangover after traversing town in a walk of shame. The first was, without a doubt, coffee.

Lois sipped her mug and tapped the shortcut for refresh on her keyboard. The display on the monitor returned with the same gibberish the office had been encountering since two days ago.

Adjusting the position of the phone propped on her shoulder, she hit speed dial and waited for a familiar voice to answer.

"It's not working, Felicity," Lois grumbled, taking another quick swig of the liquid.

"I'm on it," came Felicity Smoak's reliable reply, the rhythmic sound of fingers flying across a keyboard following that up over the line. "How are you this morning?"

Lois smiled – the second ingredient to making morning-afters bearable was talking to a good friend. "I've had worse. Still can't believe you left the bar at three to fly back to Star City."

Felicity made a sound of mock outrage. "Some of us," she said, "have regular reporting hours."

"The ass in this swivel chair is corroborating the truth of that statement," Lois returned.

"Hope you had a good birthday surprise."

"The best."

There was a distracted pause before Felicity said, "Done. Refresh again and tell me what you see."

Lois did as told. This time the Daily Planet website appeared on her screen and she clicked at a couple of links to make sure everything was in working order. She nearly sighed out loud with contentment - having a problem solved completed the trinity of mood lifters. "You're a genius," she said in a singsong tone, her delight evident in every inflection.

"What, meeting me when I was still at MIT wasn't enough to impress you of that fact?" Lois could hear the grin in her friend's voice and barely suppressed a smile herself as she drew her chair closer to her desk, setting the mug down and pulling her working folder closer to her as she did so. A movement outside the window to her office caught her attention and she turned to see Jimmy Olsen waving to get her attention.

 _I'm busy_ , Lois mouthed, before remarking to her friend, "Just affirming a daily truth," She began typing out an email to prod the press room into publishing her latest piece now that that the website was resolved. "What happened?"

There was more frantic movement.

 _You're in trouble_ , Jimmy mouthed back, pointing in their editor-in-chief's office. _Now_.

Lois frowned.

Felicity's voice cut into her thoughts, drawing her attention back to her computer screen. "It was a virus – a very creative virus. I could find out who made it but I'll need time."

Draining her coffee, she stood up and held the phone steady as she smoothed her skirt out and slipped her feet into her heels. "Thanks and let me know when you have saved the Planet."

"Just an average day in the life of Felicity—" her last name was drowned in a yelp and Lois heard a gasp that sounded like "Mr Queen!" before the line was cut. Lois smiled again. Felicity worked for Queen Consolidated, which had recently regained the heir to its considerable wealth with the reappearance of Oliver Queen.

Or, as a very drunk Felicity had said last night, Oliver 'Ridiculously hot playboy extraordinaire' Queen. Who apparently also had a penchant for showing up in the IT department to ask her to research strange items.

As Lois walked towards Perry's office, she dashed off a quick text to Felicity. _Ten bucks he's into you_.

The reply was instantaneous. _You owe me the next drink by making that rash bet_.

That was the conclusion to her relatively good morning, because Perry's face when she walked into his office was the epitome of irate.

Perry White had never been good at hiding his emotions. He slammed the stack of photographs he had been scrutinizing down upon seeing her, the action reminiscent of a defenestration he inflicted before a terrible intern last month to make his point more visceral.

"Miss Lane." He said gravely, from behind the dark oak desk he sat.

"Perry," Lois replied by way of greeting, approaching his desk and looking him calmly in the eye.

Perry took his time to interlace his fingers and place them before him. "Would you care to explain, Miss Lane, how you understood the meaning of the word 'injunction' a week ago?"

Lois pressed her lips together as she thought of how to simultaneously placate and fob him off.

"And may I remind you, Miss Lane, that we are a noble institution dedicated to the pursuit and recount of the truth, before you begin thinking of spinning any yarn?"

She bit the inside of her mouth to keep from smirking. Perry's wit only grew sharper when coupled with his ire, and this was no occasion to smile.

"I did not enter Lexcorp or even trespass onto its land," she pointed out.

"It seems we understand the court order Luthor took out against you rather differently. The gag order for the Daily Planet aside, it is specified very clearly that Miss Lois Lane," he pulled out the document and read, "will not pursue Luthor by car or motorcycle, place him under surveillance, loiter or wait within fifty feet of Lexcorp's main office and Luthor's residence to monitor or record his movements in the forms such as, but not limited to, photographs, videos, sound recordings, in light of her acts of harassment against Lexcorp and Luthor himself." He looked up. "Don't roll your eyes at me, Lane. You were in the café across the street, which you well knew was but twenty feet away. With a pair of binoculars and a camera."

"Legal said we will appeal," she ground out.

"And we are appealing," Perry agreed. "But until the appellate court decides that Luthor is violating the sanctity of the principles on which the Fourth Estate thrives on, I only have three words for you each time you even think of Luthor and Lexcorp: contempt of court. Let Olsen take charge of looking into the case."

Lois set her hands down on Perry's desk, a profane baptism of hot anger washing over her. "Jimmy is a photographer. It's my story. My leads."

Perry almost simpered. "How very convenient that we believe strongly in sharing here at the Planet then, Lois."

Lois closed her eyes in annoyance. She drew back up to her full height again, waiting for Perry to finish. He had been her mentor ever since she began working at the Planet and she knew his desire to protect the firm would never give way to his indulgence of her investigative reporting instincts.

"I mean it, Lois. You can get back on this the moment Legal gives us the OK but until then you must swear on the spirit of Nellie Bly that you will let this be."

"Blasphemy," she hissed, though half-heartedly because he would not have invoked her personal idol and heroine of all time if he were still furious. "May I pursue another of my leads then?" Being allowed to pick her own tasks would make being forced to relinquish her story to another reporter infinitely less galling. She could go after the rumour that there was very interesting activity going on in Palmer Technologies, she thought. Or, if she was desperate, even the ridiculous urban legend concerning the spectral blur of red and blue that was appearing at crime scenes in Metropolis. _Like the bank_ , her mind suggested. It was mere coincidence Metropolitan Bank just happened to be next to Lexcorp.

"Absolutely not," Perry said. "Given how territorial you are, you're just going to take an angle at something that is a cover for investigating Lexcorp."

 _Damn_. Perry knew her too well. "What will you have me do then? Push pens while contemplating how my next Pulitzer is going to go to somebody else because of pesky court orders?"

"I'd have you take that impertinent attitude and go downstairs to do some babysitting. We have a new recruit and you're going to show him the ropes for his trial period. Ask for a Clark Kent and try not to make him cry on his first day."

"Hell no," Lois said. The last thing she wanted to do was to drag a rookie around town as he worked on typical first-year assignments such as covering weddings. "Come on Perry, I got my friend to fix the website this morning after it got hacked. You know the only reason why I agreed to come back to Metropolis was so I could work on real stuff. If this is a temporary reassignment, put me in…sports or something. I'll even write about the Kardashians."

"Hell yes, Lois," Perry said, mimicking her choice of words. "You came back to our local office because Russia, Georgia _and_ South Ossetia both asked our government to retrieve you five months ago. And Libya two months ago. You'll be back in Foreign Affairs soon enough, but until then my word stands. And now I say you go quietly and with dignity before I start slow-clapping for myself this early in the day."

 _The day could go stuff itself_ , Lois thought, as she stalked out of his office and headed for the elevator.

"Well it could be worse," Jimmy said, thumbing through the box of materials relating to Lois' investigation of Lexcorp. "At least Perry said he'd let you get back on this once Legal gets our appeal through."

"It could take ages," Lois groaned. "The one interesting, big story I got since coming back…"

"He could also have given your case to your biggest competitor in this office rather than your only true friend here," Jimmy pointed out.

"Don't get too full of yourself, Olsen." She shoved him playfully.

"Who else is going to watch out for your amazing inability to wear matching shoes?" Jimmy shrugged. That was a running joke between them, a reference to Lois' first late day to work after a rather too wild night-out. Jimmy had covered for her and their friendship had cemented thereafter. "Or rate how hot the new guys are with you."

"The Kent kid is definitely a not."

"You've not even met him yet, in all of the twenty minutes you've been waiting in this room," Jimmy said. Lois had sat herself down on the plush chairs next to the reception when she arrived to find that the rookie had left shortly after reporting to reception, leaving only the message that he would be back soon. Jimmy had just dropped in on her to discharge his duties as a friend, on the pretext that he needed to ensure that all her research had been handed over to his keeping. "Do your research before you tell your stories, Lane."

"He's late." Lois said by way of explanation.

"A cardinal sin when it comes to your proclivities," Jimmy agreed, "but the gossip from HR is that the man is quite good looking. Besides, I've never known the cynical Lois Lane to be interested in anything more than a booty call."

"I don't have time…" Lois began her usual mantra.

"…for a man," Jimmy finished. "We know, Lane. You're determined to be the spinster queen of cat ladies, as well as the Nellie Bly of our generation."

Lois replied with a good-natured obscenity, but she could not keep the grin off her face. "The Kent kid is going to be grateful he even has a booty by the time I'm done with his hide if he still doesn't show in the next ten minutes."

Rising from his seat, Jimmy paused to pat Lois's shoulder, an expression of indulgence across his clean-cut face. _Play nice_ , he mouthed as he disappeared into the crowd entering the elevator.

Lois glanced at the clock hanging on the wall to her right. It was time to leave if she wanted to make the pre-set interview time for the piece she was co-writing with the rookie. Leaving a message at the reception desk for the rookie, she got up and headed for the carpark, where she kept a change of clothes stashed in her Mini.

Kent had been instructed to interview an old couple that had just auctioned off their son's vintage teddy bear at an obscenely high price. Accordingly it was ideal if her clothes had less of a corporate feel and a more casual vibe.

Picking up her lipstick from where it lay on the car floor, she gave her appearance a quick survey to ensure she would be presentable to the interviewees and checked her watch again before stepping on the gas.

If the Kent kid even got around to showing up, she would eviscerate him.


	2. Chapter 2

Clark traversed down the street in his best approximation of a healthy young man's running speed. It was no option to fly when he had yet to survey the surrounding neighbourhood and ascertain a good spot to change his clothes.

It was on hindsight, he decided, not a good decision to start his job at the Daily Planet immediately upon arriving in Metropolis. He had barely begun unpacking the boxes that arrived from Smallville yesterday when reports of a mugging came on over the radio wavelengths.

For a purportedly safe city, there was a lot of petty crime taking place in Metropolis. It probably was not as dangerous as Gotham, based on the reports coming from the Gotham Gazette, but just today his arriving to his workplace was precipitated by news of a robbery five blocks down the street and he had to go to the rescue.

The frequency in which he heard deontic calls from vulnerable citizens only underscored one thing: he was not in Kansas any more.

It was only by chance this morning that he managed to return to his clothes and phone so that he could get the phone call from the Planet in time. His supervisor had left for his assignment with strict instructions to meet at the Metropolitan History Museum in an hour's time.

"You better bring a double shot macchiato with skim and extra sugar," the receptionist advised, her kindly voice bearing all the trappings of pity. "Miss Lane is not to be crossed when angry, and she hates tardiness."

He could have sworn there was an underline to the word 'hate' in that sentence. And perhaps italics for 'not to be crossed' as well.

Miss Lane was _the_ Lois Lane, star reporter of the Daily Planet, as he found out while taking the subway train to the address he was given. She was the youngest recipient of the prestigious Pulitzer and a notable enthusiast for extreme methods in investigative journalism. The ex-head of the National Security Agency apparently swore her name ever since she exposed the track record for human rights abuses under his direction. Photographs dredged up on the Internet showed a woman with an air of intelligent confidence about her, a shrewd gleam in her eyes complimenting the satisfied grin she flashed as she was awarded her prize.

Clark bought the coffee for the lady. He needed to be in her good books if she was going to excuse the copious absences from the office he was likely to be prone to in his official professional career.

He had come to Metropolis with the intention of doing more with what he had to offer. The Daily Planet had the best Foreign Affairs department in the country and a more than respectable coverage of injustices closer to home.

 _It was_ , he felt, _what Pa would have wanted_. His father had always emphasized that the entitled had an obligation to care for the vulnerable and the downtrodden. Jonathan Kent had also stressed the need to be mindful of the consequences of his actions. Reporter Clark was an excellent cover for strange-flying-man-who-goes-around-helping-people. Just as well he enjoyed writing from his school days, though that previous turn of phrase suggested he had a long way to go in honing his skills.

As he approached the Metropolitan History Museum, he noticed the woman he was to meet standing on its front steps.

Her mouth was set in a line as she inspected the face of her watch, a crease forming between her brows. Behind her person the Neoclassical façade of the museum stood regally, casting a shadow of solicitude on anyone positioned on its steps.

Clark ground to a stop just by her, reminding himself to breathe deeply as though he had been exerting himself. There was nothing he could do to produce a sweat but the least he could do was to pretend that he had run here from the station, while he rehearsed his cover story in his mind.

Before he could speak her gaze fell upon him and darkened.

"Mr Kent, I presume?"

Her tone was icy. He could not place her accent. Clark studied her face carefully, wondering how he could placate her. "Yes," he said, after the pause had grown awkward and he realised she had been waiting for an affirmative reply. "Please call me Clark. I am really sorry for being late – an emergency cropped up at my bank and I—"

"Rookie," she interrupted, looking him straight in the eye despite the fact that he would have towered over her had they been standing on equal ground. "That coffee better be for me, because if I find out that you emergency was caffeine-related, I will make you rue this very day."

He passed her the paper cup with haste.

"I read your file this morning. You were a reporter for your high school paper in…"

"Smallville," he offered, barely restraining himself from adding a "Ma'am" at the end.

"Smallville," she said, taking a sip from the cup. "Mmm…the tears of small children," she murmured.

Clark gave a start. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing," she said, "Have you conducted an interview before?"

Clark nodded. Lois Lane was a small woman but her confidence spoke of power and authority and her position a few steps higher than where he stood allowed her to look him directly in the eye.

 _Though she be but little, she is fierce_ , he thought, before realizing that no person had ever compelled him to quote Shakespeare upon their first meeting.

"Let's get the terms of your probation right then. I am in charge of overseeing your work during this first month. Perry has given you a series of assignments to test your endurance and speed under a very strict deadline. You will turn every piece of work to me before it goes to Perry for editing and I think you should know right now that my standards are very high."

She began walking towards the museum, large strides despite her high heels. Clark rushed to follow, a stunned feeling washing over him as he listened to her lay down the law.

"Rule one of working with me," she uttered, crossing the marble floor of the first floor and heading straight for an elevator in the far corner of the large hall. "Never be late for anything without a proper reason such as following up a lead. Which is the only proper reason."

She all but stabbed at the button to summon the elevator and thrust a file at him labelled 'Clark Kent: Assignments for Week One'.

"Rule two: always dress in anticipation of whomever it is you will be interviewing. It is advisable to wear something that you can dress up or down easily when you are out on a job. There will be people who tell you that it doesn't matter and you can wear whatever you want, but those assholes don't understand the amount of time you save when you present yourself the right way from the start. Play to what makes the person most likely to talk, and you save yourself unnecessary hassle when you find out while writing you left something out.

"We are now going to interview the auctioneer. I've met him before and he's a clotheshorse if there ever was one. If you ever have to meet him again make sure to be well-dressed – I made the mistake of going casual once and I had to resort to bad cop tactics earlier than I usually have to make him speak. Lucky for you we're on a more friendly visit today and there are no dark secrets to dig up." She raked a quick glance over his person and her lips curled slightly in distaste before she returned her eyes to the electronic display tracking the status of the elevator's descent.

"Rule three: get rid of those trainers. You may not wear them even if we have to stake-out in a gym."

They entered the elevator, and Clark was barely aware that he had yet to respond to anything she said verbally. His silence was born out of shock and fascination. He had never met anyone like her – anyone who spoke like they were consciously holding back a strong inclination to lace their speech with profanities while speaking in imperatives.

Lois took a mouthful of her coffee and for a moment utter bliss was stamped across her mien. That dissolved the moment she turned her attention back to him. "You've been very quiet, Smallville. Do you understand me?"

He had been studying her carefully as the initial surprise of her personality had somewhat worn off. She was waiting with ill-disguised impatience, her frame barely containing the indomitable will she exuded the way other people exuded charm, or good manners. She had plenty of the former – it was subsumed in her intrepidity – though he was fairly certain she only pulled out the good manners when required by her job.

"Perfectly," he managed. "Do you have any preferences as to formatting when I hand in my work, Miss Lane?"

A look of confusion crossed her features. "It's Lois," she said. "And we'll talk about that after we finish this job."

The doors opened and Lois had barely taken a first step out when she let out a curse word. Clark's gaze fell upon three masked figures, each brandishing guns and menacing attitudes.

"Hands up and step out of the elevator, or we'll shoot," said the closest one to them.

Clark thought quickly as he threw his hands up. He had to get into costume without anyone finding out. Or was that risking the safety of everyone held hostage? He had to –

Before he could reach towards the button to close the doors, he heard Lois speak.

"Easy," she said, her voice calm. She was raising a hand up and taking very small steps towards the door. Clark frowned and noticed that her other hand was jammed in the black bag she had by her side, her thumb engaged in a tapping motion.

"Put up both hands!" growled the man in black.

By now Lois' person was halfway out of the elevator and Clark had no guarantee that he could get the door to close and protect her at the same time without blowing his cover. Was it a better idea to enter the room and look for another opportunity to change?

"Just…looking for my inhaler," Lois said, "I get so nervous and I don't want to risk an asthmatic attack…"

Clark raked an anxious glance at her but her vitals seemed normal. His eyes centered on the bag and he realized she was dialing for a Jimmy Olsen.

"What are you doing with your bag?" The man came closer to them and Clark hastily inched towards Lois, but he could not move fast enough at a human speed to prevent the man from grabbing Lois' arm.

She had the sense to let go of her phone but the damage was done, as the man angrily snatched the bag away in his realization of what she was doing.

"The bitch was calling someone!"

"I just wanted to tell my son I wouldn't be back in time for dinner," Lois whimpered, which was surely an act, because it sounded nothing like her usual no-nonsense tone and her meek demeanour was a touch too exaggerated to the point of irony.

"You won't be, for sure," replied the masked man, bringing up the gun and firing in their direction.

Clark reached out for Lois so he could shield her with his body, nearly missing her as she careened towards the right. He swung himself to her front, barely remembering to bolster her fall by wrapping his arms around her as they fell to the ground.

The bullet whizzed over his head just as they landed, his eyes widening in shock.

"Smallville, are you all right?" she asked sharply.

Clark blinked, not really taking in the shouting that was going on in the background as the masked shooter's partners called out his rash act. That movement she made before he caught her…Lois Lane had just tried to protect him from a bullet with her frail, human body. The same body that he could feel pressed along the length of his own in all its fragility of form.

"Clark?"

He felt cold metal pressed against his neck – a gun, with no doubt.

"Get off your girlfriend and place your hands on your head."

Lois' violet eyes narrowed and she muttered another expletive. Clark felt he shared the sentiment as he complied with the threat, surveying the room as surreptitiously as he could while trying to find a place to change and wondering how to get to that part of his action plan.

This was not an ideal situation in the slightest.


	3. Chapter 3

Lois had seen this before.

It was disillusionment, disappointment and a slight touch of despair all at once, the deadly cocktail that particularly plagued middle-aged men and college students.

"It's all right," she whispered. "We'll get through this."

Clark looked across from where he was sitting on the ground like she did not understand. "I have to go," he said slowly.

"No, the story is right here," she pointed out. "Keep your reporting instincts on at full throttle. I'll make sure Perry lets you cover this."

Their exchange earned them a glare from their captors. Lois turned away from her charge and examined the situation. She had decided that this certainly was a diversion, for it did not make sense to hold a group of people hostage in the third floor of a museum. The question was, what did they wish to accomplish?

The rest of the hostages alternated between being terrified and resentful, huddled up in little groups in their various corners on the floor. Lois hoped one of them had the sense to try and call the cops. Her abortive attempt to contact Jimmy had not succeeded, and while she believed there was no real threat to anyone's safety her helplessness was beginning to chafe at her.

Thirty minutes passed before one of their captors placed a hand to his ear. He was communicating with someone via a device of some sorts, Lois realized. The man beckoned to his friends and they made their way to the elevator that Lois came up in, guns still pointed at the other inhabitants of the room.

The moment the door closed, Clark jumped to his feet and made off in the direction of the stairs. Lois followed as closely as she could, calling out, "Where in the world do you think you are going? The interviewees for this story are here!"

"I, uh, need to do something! I'll write the story when I get back to the Planet later," came his reply, and she halted her own descent down the stairs as she watched his figure disappear.

Lois felt the beginnings of rage coming on and she took a moment to compose herself so that she could efficiently receive testimony about the hostages' experiences. It would be work, and then she would very happily kill Clark Kent.

She had word-processed the interviews and sent them via email two hour ago, but she could not stop fiddling with the formatting as she watched the office door. The worst thing about babysitting under Perry's orders was the fact that she had no real assignments of her own to occupy her. Lois pulled out the few documents that Jimmy had surreptitiously returned to her from her investigation of Lexcorp and read them over, hoping to find a new angle she had yet to discover.

A message arrived for her from Legal – a missive that politely asked her to cease making suggestions on how to do their job. She let out a snort of laughter and bit into one of the jelly doughnuts Jimmy had bought for all his colleagues following a sojourn in Downtown Metropolis. _If_ the Legal Department was slightly better at removing the present injunction against her, she would not have interfered at all.

A further note came with the official one from Legal. Written in a loopy hand were the words, 'Still waiting for your reply on my offer for coffee, Lois. Don't keep my heart breaking. Jonathan. PS: The law on judicial review has it that overly rigid policies are an unlawful fetter on discretionary power."

She placed the note on top of her 'Keep In View' pile. Jonathan Carroll was a persistent bugger and had been sending one of these every week since he asked her out a month ago. Lois had demurred then, citing her 'no dating within the office' policy. Then again, was it dating within the office if he came from a different department?

As yet another employee shuffled out for the dinner break, she spied Clark Kent's large frame enter the office space. His hair was mussed and his clothes were disheveled and Lois's mouth hardened. She rose from her seat and hurtled towards the door.

"Where – " she began, but he offered her a sheet of paper with what appeared to be a draft neatly typed out.

"I wasn't sure if you required it in hard copy or soft copy, but it should be heading to your inbox right now," he smiled, a row of white teeth emerging.

Lois glanced at the time on her watch, placing her ire neatly aside as she said, "Order Chinese – list of numbers is on the cupboard in the pantry. I'll be back to you within an hour. We'll discuss this in my office over dinner."

Returning to her desk, she closed her hand over her sole red-inked pen as she read his draft.

Clark felt foreboding. He felt apprehension, some degree of trepidation, consternation, distress, the works.

Or perhaps to be frank: Clark merely did not know what to expect from his mentor. He had narrowly avoided being told off by having the draft ready when he first returned to the Planet, but there was no saying if it was total discharge he had brought about or a mere postponement.

She was still reading the sheet he had passed to her, a red pen twirling idly in her hand. Clark ignored the crease in her brow and instead focused on his surroundings. Lois Lane's personal space walked the fine line between chaotic clutter and artful disarray. Pens were hanging precariously out of a mug they presumably had been shoved into on a shelf, while files were left open and sheaves of unfiled papers piled upon each file.

"There is a method to my mess," remarked Lois.

He met her gaze, setting down the delivery of hot food on the one empty space on her table he could find.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted to have, so I asked around…" He trailed off, watching her pull open the top of the white boxes.

"Well, you're still going to hear my opinion on your absence this morning, but you've been doing a good job of plying me with food to ensure a better mood when it actually happens. Thanks for dinner – the next one is on me." Lois reached into the bag the food came in and extricated two pairs of chopsticks. Thrusting one of them at him and the red ink-riddled draft he had submitted to her, she said, "Let's talk about your work."

Clark sat down opposite her cautiously, splitting apart his chopsticks. Lois had already started on the complimentary prawn crackers as she said, "The third sentence of your opening paragraph has to go and I think the you can bring that point up in the fourth paragraph – perhaps just behind the second line."

He nodded, biting into his order of General Tso's chicken. Lois's commentary approached the draft in a linear manner, her points about his work directly made and substantiated immediately with reference to the specific paragraph and sentence. With each word she uttered, excitement coursed through her animated hand gestures and the cynicism that usually clung to her like a habit momentarily yielded to her zeal.

 _She loved her craft_ , he realised. Lois talked about journalism the way a person gushed about the love of their life. Her violet eyes were shining as she said, "The closing paragraph needs to be refashioned, but keep the final two lines. I loved the turn of phrase, and I love the use of assonance to underscore your point. You're got a great ear for the sound of your words – it shows throughout the draft – and that lends a poetic quality to the way you write. Any questions, or points you disagree with me on?"

She took a mouthful of noodles and looked at him expectantly, her cynicism once again masking the passion that she showed earlier, as a curtain would fall to signify the end of a show.

Clark felt slightly taken aback. Lois had maintained a steady flow of constructive criticism and he had not expected praise beyond a cursory 'good work'. He had been transfixed, content to watch her speak. To watch her come fully alive for something that she loved.

"Not really," he managed, "Perhaps what you said about the use of punctuation in paragraph two, but I think that's stylistic and I would defer to you because I don't think it makes much difference to what I tried to achieve there. Did you really think it was okay?"

She frowned. "Truth," she pointed out. "That's what I stand for. I don't say things I don't mean. You write well, but you need to learn not to sacrifice brevity or accuracy for presentation. Which reminds me, where did you get the information for the reason for the hostage situation?"

There it was – the reason Clark had made a disappearance during the day. He had found an alley to change and followed the masked assailants to their next location, where he dispatched them and alerted the police. It was easy work to then case the place and incorporate that into his draft, which he printed at the computer room downstairs before he dared show his face to Lois.

"I believe the police has most of the evidence pertaining to that. I followed the men after they left and saw the arrest myself."

Lois was silent for a while, before sighing, "The next time that happens, make sure to inform your partner immediately. You're getting off without the scolding this time because you turned in a decent piece early…and also because I would probably do the same if I were you. But a rookie can't get away with that unless he's very good, and very good all the time. Make sure to communicate with whomever your partner is the next time. Now quickly finish those edits and get the draft to Perry."

Clark placed the remnants of their dinner in a bag and cleared up the mess, biting back a smile. She must have observed this, for she demanded, "What's the smile for?"

He hesitated. "This," he gestured vaguely. "Your comments…are not what I expected." He left unspoken, _You are not what I expected_. He had thought Lois Lane would be stricter. His temporary stint in the computer room downstairs had included inadvertently eavesdropping on a conversation about his assigned mentor.

Miss Lane was, supposedly, incredibly competitive about stories and strict about work. She had apparently made an intern cry just two weeks ago for sloppy submissions, and anyone who had worked with her in the industry mentioned her competence with both awe and terror in the same breath.

It was said Lois Lane got results, one way or another.

She let out a laugh. "Did you hear one of those dragon lady stories? As I said, Smallville, it's about the truth. Try handing in something outright terrible and I'll make you regret it. And insofar you're under my charge, you'll out-write any other new reporters Perry has hired. Enjoy my help with your career while it lasts, Smallville. Now get to work."

Clark allowed himself to grin as he left her office. He thought of the way she had tried to shield him against bullets with her body that morning, and the efficient way she had talked about his draft. Lois Lane just was, he thought. There was no adequate way to describe such a person, much as she had praised him for his words.

Walking to the desk he would call his own here, he pulled out personal effects such as a framed photograph of his parents and began arranging them as he waited for his computer to start up fully. The draft she had annotated lay to his right, her handwriting bold and orderly across the blank spaces on the page. As he opened the document, it crossed his mind he would enjoy working here under, and eventually with, Lois Lane.

* * *

 **A big thank you to all who have been patiently awaiting this update. As I mentioned in my first chapter for** ** _The Dark Prodigal_** **, I started** ** _Byline_** **with no real plan for a longer plot in mind. It was actually a response to my feeling really upset over Clark/Diana in the New 52, and my desire to write about Lois because I love Lois and I wanted so badly to pay tribute to how wonderful she is as a character. Introducing Clark in chapter 2 rather threw me off because I began to think that it was necessary to write the Superman scenes properly and that was never my intention. It also does not fall within the purview of my expertise because I've not read many Superman titles and much as I love Elseworlds stories that alone does not constitute good research for writing a Superman story.**

 **So I procrastinated on this while happily churning out chapters for my Arrow fanfic and I got back on this only when I came to the important realisation I started this for Lois and therefore only need to write the parts that really pertain to Lois. I wanted to capture the friendship dynamic between them and I'm really not sure if I will write a lot of this. If I do it's definitely a slowburn and I will focus on the journalism as opposed to the super-heroics. I hope you enjoyed it thus far and I will continue writing as the inspiration strikes me. I would love to read your thoughts on how I handled the first day of Clois, or even how I portrayed the two.**

 **I already have an idea for Lucy Lane's visit and a scene involving a molecular gastronomy restaurant where Clark's hotness will be commented upon and Lois teased. I've laughed when thinking about it, so hopefully I'll still be laughing when I get around to writing and you'll find it hilarious too.**


	4. Chapter 4

"All right, Dirk. Sorry, Mr Armstrong," Lois shrugged, placing a hand back on his desk and leaning forward. "We used to work together, so you know the drill. Would you like to speak to my colleague, or would you like me to begin?"

Dirk Armstrong took one look at Clark and laughed. "Where did Perry find this one? He's literally the yin to your yang! He looks as menacing as a mewling kitten!"

Lois winced. If there was any grammatical mistake that really got to her, it was the over-liberal use of the word 'literally'. _God bless America_ , she thought grimly, recalling the link someone had recently shared with her that categorized this particular error as especially peculiar to her country.

"Clark," she called, "Why don't you give Mr Armstrong here a rundown of the questions we will have answered by the end of our appointment with him?"

He nodded and pulled out the neatly typed document she had watched him print just before they left the Planet. That was one thing that she could never get over – Clark Kent embodied stereotypes about growing up in the rural countryside even in his preference of printed-paper over newer technology when it came to his work.

Dirk's genial demeanor fell away as he made his way down the list. _Take that from the mewling kitten_ , she thought, savagely. Clark had drafted most of that, proving his ability to be incisive despite his propensity to wax lyrical when describing mundane activities. Or to quote Jimmy, who had read one of Clark's drafts over her shoulder once, _Clark Kent wrote like Humans of Metropolis had a love child with Charles Dickens_.

"Well," she said, mostly to draw their attention back to her. "I've personally always thought Clark more of a dog person, but I believe I can leave you two together to discuss what animals you prefer to channel when addressing the topic of your campaign manager's embezzlement of your election funds, Mr Armstrong." She made a show of checking her watch – they had been allotted two hours with the former journalist, now alderman – before stating sweetly, "I'll be back in an hour's time for the bad cop part of this interview. Have fun, boys."

Stepping out of Dirk Armstrong's office, she pulled out her phone to check her schedule for the next appointment. There was a text from 'Dan Turpin (SCU)' reading ' _URGENT: Maggie wants to see you_ '. Lois scowled and looked in her inbox for the usual accompanying message from another member of the police when such texts arrived.

Sure enough, Inspector Henderson had sent her an email with the subject title 'DO NOT ENGAGE WITH SAWYER'. Lois locked her phone's screen and tucked it back into her bag, heading out of the building in search of coffee.

The Metropolitan police force needed to sort itself out, she thought, as she ordered a latte and two doughnuts before sliding into a seat to give her heeled legs a rest. Having collected her sustenance, she started looking through one of Clark's latest drafts, a piece about a doctor's breach of ethics at the local hospital, pausing every now and then to strike through a sentence or scribble her comments at the side.

An hour passed quickly, and she made her way back, her latte and the takeaway box of food in hand.

"How's everyone?" she said cheerfully, as she entered Dirk Armstrong's office.

Clark turned and flashed a welcoming smile at her. He stood up as she approached the table, taking a stool for himself ffrom the far side of the office.

"Mr Armstrong has been most cooperative. You need to push harder on questions four and nine through thirteen," he said, handing her his fill notepad.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Dirk addressed Lois from behind his table, distracting her perusal of Clark's notes. "I never met anyone who enjoyed grilling a person more than you; not even the DA."

"Mmm," she replied, frowning at the final paragraph Clark had written, before looking up at him. "Well, Dirk, everything we discuss once I sit down will be on the record. Do you mind if Clark eats his lunch here? No? I shall begin then. Thank you for talking to my colleague thus far, Mr Armstrong."

Lois handed the doughnuts to Clark and sat in the chair he had vacated. Dirk used one of those electric table lamps that concentrated its illumination on a small point, she noted with approval. The whole set-up resembled the sort of interrogation room one saw on television, and the thought of it greatly amused her.

"So, Mr Armstrong. Would you like to tell me more about the incident on October the eighth this year?"

* * *

"Scatter hoarders," Clark said, as soon as they both left the building.

"What?"

"You wanted an animal analogy for the whole account. An embezzler would be a scatter hoarder, like a squirrel. Or a chipmunk."

She opened her mouth, and closed it, as if she were considering her words very carefully. "Smallville, your farmboy roots are showing," she said at last.

Clark laughed good naturedly. "Your snark queen title is shaking," he said. "That caused barely a scratch."

"Only because you've been about me too much," she replied, with no hesitation. "A few more weeks and you'll be bulletproof."

He had to bite back his laughter at that one, suppressing the pleasure that washed over his person. Lois had no idea. "What did you think of today's interview?" he asked instead, adjusting the position of his messenger bag's strap on his shoulder.

"Dirk has always been more of a politician than a journalist," she answered, slowing down somewhat from the brisk pace she always kept so that she could look at him with ease as they spoke.

"Didn't he write an opinion column?"

"Yes, don't interrupt me," she gasped in mock-outrage. "Dirk was not happy about being pressed on his knowledge on the way funds were managed, and he contradicted himself twice when we brought up his personal relationship with his staff. He was careless, but all the same, good job on your first solo interview for the Planet, Smallville."

"Thanks."

Clark had been working for the Daily Planet for a total of three weeks and two days, and any time not spent in his superhero guise was dedicated to journalism and working with Lois. Metropolis had taken his presence fairly well, though curiosity abounded with regard to his identity. He had caught Jimmy Olsen's figure on the fiftieth floor of a skyscraper while making his way back from a would-be crime scene one evening, crouched over a tripod and a camera hoping to get a good shot of the flying man.

It was all he could do then not to grin goofily and wave at Jimmy in mid-air.

They got off the subway train, climbing up the stairs and treading the familiar path towards the Planet, and he marvelled at the speed at which he had gotten used to life in a large city, save for the pangs of homesickness that struck him every Sunday morning, when he was used to going to church with his parents and having his mother's home-cooked food after.

Long phone calls and a very hefty care package from Kansas were not quite enough to make up for his missing home.

Lois punched the buttons on the elevator they were in rather violently then, which brought his thoughts back to his present surroundings.

"I'm going to talk to Legal now," she muttered, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes were trained on the progress of the elevator on the electronic display in the little space they occupied. "They have stopped updating me entirely on the Luthor appeal and somebody is going to answer for it."

He refrained on commenting, on the advice of several colleagues including Steve Lombard, Ron Troupe and Jimmy himself.

"Lois can be like a dog with a bone," Lombard had said, hands flying up near his face to approximate the bone in his rather unflattering analogy. "A rabid dog with a bone, when she's decided on a story as hers, and this Luthor thing has been her baby for a long time. Keep your mouth shut and she won't lose her temper."

Clark rather thought it was ludicrous the way everyone stepped around her like that. Lois was not unreasonable or mercurial. She was simply more conscientious about her work than most other people, and had an incessant need to know what was going on about whatever it was that interested her.

He often thought that he liked that intensity in her.

"What are you simpering to yourself about?" she nudged him, her expression playful.

"I was just thinking about one of the most remarkable women I've ever met," he replied truthfully. He had read the piece that won her her Pulitzer a week after working with her and felt genuinely awed at her ability.

Lois regarded him with a skepticism he usually saw trained on her interviewees, before remarking, "Looks like I'm winning the company bet this time."

"Pardon?"

She chortled, a sound of pure delight. "HR started a betting pool on whether you were into women. Round two on whether you're bisexual or heterosexual is still at question, but I've won the first round." Raising a finger, she leaned closer to him and said, "Don't tell anyone else here what I've learnt today before Saturday."

Clark had no ready retort for her.

"Oh don't look so stupefied, Smallville," she patted his shoulder. "Metropolis is a big city with a lot of single men and women. When fresh blood comes in, it's only the right thing to do to find out their tastes and then disseminate the information."

He was still flabbergasted, but she carried the conversation on without his input.

"We were going to wait to see who you brought as your plus one to the welcome party we're throwing for you this weekend, but I'm glad my drinks for the night are assured."

The doors slid open and Lois exited as part of her plan to find the legal department, her mood restored by the prospect of winning and alcohol. Before the doors could close such that Clark travelled upward by himself, she flashed him a sunny smile.

"Bring your dream woman to the party if you can, Clark! I'd love to meet her," she said, leaving before he could compose a reaction to the sentiment.

He let out a long sigh. Even superpowers could not help him to fulfill _that_ particular wish.


End file.
